


Written in Stone

by Wolfloner



Series: Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces [34]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Borderline Personality Disorder, Bottom Peter Parker/Top Wade Wilson, Dom Wade Wilson, Established Relationship, Fanart, Feels, Idiots in Love, Knifeplay, Light BDSM, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Schizophrenic Wade Wilson, Shaving, Sub Peter Parker, Underage Drinking, Wade Wilson Gets A Hug, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, but like, mentioned - Freeform, responsibly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26401543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfloner/pseuds/Wolfloner
Summary: “I found a picture of you,” he blurted. “In your apartment.”Wade just stared at him, his frustration melting into confusion. “What?”“F-frombefore. Before Weapon—”“Yeah, figured that much,” Wade cut him off. “Where? When?”In an attempt to be honest, Peter hurts Wade.Wade allows Peter to see him at his most vulnerable.Peter does his best to return the favor.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: Finding Beauty in Negative Spaces [34]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1051433
Comments: 30
Kudos: 192





	Written in Stone

**Author's Note:**

> CW: There are about 4 paragraphs that briefly allude to past child abuse from when Wade was 16. It's not specified what happened, but obviously an adult hurt him. I've placed *** on either side of those paragraphs, just in case.
> 
> Fanart done by the lovely amazing Kasumi!

_And I feel like I tried_  
_To quiet all my dismay_  
_But it tore me apart_  
_The violence out on display  
  
_—Seether, _Written in Stone  
_

Peter kept a closer eye on Wade over the next few days. Overall he seemed fine if a bit clingier than normal. Which honestly, Peter hadn’t even realized was a possibility. But he didn’t mind the extra hugs, kisses, or falling asleep tangled up in each other.

He waited until he was _certain_ that Wade was back to normal—or, as normal as he ever was—before broaching the topic that had been eating away at him for the last several days.

“Hey, Wade?” He perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island and watched as Wade finished slicing a carrot before turning his attention to Peter.

“Yeah?”

“So. I, uh. Okay.” He huffed out a breath, already irritated with himself. “I might have been, um. Lying about something. By omission. That you should probably know.”

Wade tensed, and for a brief second, Peter wondered if he should have started this conversation at a time when his boyfriend _wasn’t_ holding a knife. But the thought passed just as quickly. “Alright. Good start to the day,” he sounded frustrated, but not angry. Yet. “What about?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter struggled to maintain any semblance of eye contact. “It’s not like… I mean, I meant not to tell you, but I didn’t mean to find out in the first place, and I knew you wouldn’t want me to know so—”

“Peter,” Wade snapped.

“I found a picture of you,” he blurted. “In your apartment.”

Wade just stared at him, his frustration melting into confusion. “What?”

“F-from _before._ Before Weapon—”

“Yeah, figured that much,” Wade cut him off. “Where? When?”

He wet his lips and gave up on looking at him. Instead, he focused on the pattern in the countertop under his fingers. “When you were regrowing your arm. It was under the floorboard with the heroin.”

“Huh,” Wade set the knife down.

“I should have told you,” Peter continued. “But I saw how upset you got when you thought Weasel was going to show me what you looked like, and I figured I could just pretend to have never seen it.”

He heard Wade walk over to the other side of the island, but he didn’t do anything to get Peter to look at him again. “So, why tell me now?”

“The other day. You were actually _talking_ about it—” from his periphery, he could see Wade wince, “—and suddenly it felt a lot less like not bringing it up and a lot more like lying.” Peter waited for Wade to say something. Anything. Instead, he was just met with an oppressing silence. “I’m so—”

“Stop apologizing.”

Peter’s eyes snapped up. Wade’s tone was so _empty,_ and he couldn’t read his expression. “I… Okay.”

“You told me the truth to make yourself feel better.”

“No, I,” he stopped. Why _had_ he told Wade the truth? Because he didn’t like lying to Wade. Because he didn’t want to keep secrets like that from him. “You deserved to know.”

“Pretty words,” Wade bit out. “But we both know that I’d have wanted you to keep it to yourself.” He pushed himself away from the counter and rounded the island.

“How angry are you?” Peter whispered, asking despite himself.

Wade just laughed, harsh and empty. “Fuck, I wish I was angry! Anger is easy! I don’t even _know_ what I’m feeling right now. Hell, I even believe that you aren’t trying to hurt me.”

“Of course, I’m not!”

“Of course you’re not,” Wade agreed bitterly. “Life lesson, Pete. You listening?”

Peter nodded.

“Honesty isn’t always the best policy. It’s not always kind. This? This conversation we’re having right now. This is _cruel.”_

* * *

After Peter’s absolute colossal failure at empathy, the rest of the day was strained. Any attempt at conversation was met with one- or two-word replies. And even when they went patrolling, Deadpool was quick to head off in the opposite direction. He also returned home hours later than Peter had, even though Peter hadn’t turned for home until the sun started to rise.

Honestly, he was surprised that Deadpool came back to their apartment at all.

“Okay,” Wade announced when, around noon, he ventured out of the bedroom. “I’ve made a decision.”

Peter looked up from his bowl of cereal. “About what?” He was terrified of the possible answers. Was Wade going to leave? Had Peter’s unintentional cruelty been too much for him to deal with? (Peter wouldn’t hold it against him if it was.)

“Jesus, you look like I just told you I was going to stab a puppy with a coathanger.”

He frowned. “I don’t like how specific that was.”

“I have never _intentionally_ hurt any puppies,” Wade assured him with a dismissive wave. “Anyways. You and me are gonna take a trip to Sister Margaret’s.”

“We are?”

“Yep. I thought about it all day, and then all night, and figured that one of these days, you’ll probably find out more shit about me. Stuff that I’d rather you not know.”

“I didn’t go looking or anything! And I wouldn’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, stuff it. Don’t care. Not the point.” Wade sat down in the chair beside him. “The _point_ is that it’s gonna happen. Eventually.”

“Well, if it does, I’ll just keep it to myself and—”

“Still not the point,” Wade cut him off. “I want to be the reason you find out.”

“Oh,” he set his spoon into the bowl, breakfast all but forgotten. “Okay. Why does that involve Sister Margaret’s?”

“C’mon, Petey, keep up. Weas has all kinds of information on people. Including me. Which is why I know some of it will make its way to you. Instead, I’m gonna show you what he has.”

“Are you sure you’re friends?”

“Yep. Best buddies. Finish eating, and we’ll go.”

Wade’s tension rolled off him in waves while Peter hurried to finish eating. Some of the cereal had gotten unpleasantly soggy, but he choked it down all the same. Even as he rushed through getting dressed, he couldn’t help but worry about the fact that Wade wasn’t even keeping up any sort of veneer of politeness.

Not that he owed it to anyone or anything, but that level of gruffness towards Peter had become uncharacteristic of their relationship.

Yeah, he’d really fucked up.

* * *

As soon as Wade dragged him through the doors of the bar, his Senses sent a snap crackle pop of anxiety up his spine. The place wasn’t crowded—it never seemed to be—but he had the brief attention of several people with questionable morals, all of whom seemed curious as to why he was being pulled behind Wade Wilson.

It was _worse_ when Wade released his hand and barged past Weasel’s complaints towards the back rooms.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the famous Peter.” The spite in Weasel’s tone was impossible to miss.

“Er?” Peter glanced towards the door that Wade had disappeared through, wishing that Wade had dragged him back there as well. “Yeah, hi. We’ve met before.”

“Oh, I know,” Weasel assured him. “I remember. But between then and now, on at least _two_ occasions, you’ve said shit that led to our mutual friend _breaking_ my bar.”

“Sorry,” Peter shrank back reflexively. His Senses were on high alert and _everything_ felt like danger as he stood there. “I swear I’m trying not to.” Weasel’s gaze didn’t falter as he stared Peter down. “Thank you for being there for him when I fuck up.”

“Gross,” Weasel’s face wrinkled in disgust, and the tension between them broke. “Don’t say shit like that. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Peter relaxed and the worst of his anxiety melted. Weasel, for all he wanted to be viewed as a heartless bastard, gave a damn. Somewhere in there. “Sure,” he agreed.

Weasel rolled his eyes. “So. You owe me some truth, kid.”

He frowned. “Pretty sure I don’t owe you anything.”

“How old are you?”

“I told you last time,” Peter crossed his arms. “I’m 21.”

“Kid, I help organize murders. Do you really think I give a shit about you being underage in a bar?”

It was a fair point, even if Peter wasn’t sure why the guy cared. “I’m 18.”

Weasel groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up. “Of fucking course you are.” He let out a string of swears and insults about Wade that he was probably lucky he wasn’t there to hear. “Please tell me he at least waited to hit on you until you were legal.”

Peter clamped down on the part of him that wanted to point out that just because a relationship was “legal” didn’t mean it was ethical or moral. Given Weasel’s outburst, he was pretty sure he’d be preaching to the choir. “I mean… He quit hitting on me when he found out I was a minor.”

“What the _fuck?”_ Weasel made a show of looking him up and down. “How could he look at you and _not_ notice that you’re a goddamn _child?!”_

He felt himself freeze. Weasel didn’t know he was Spider-Man. And thus had no idea how Peter and Wade had met. He had no idea what story Wade might have told him, either. _Shit shit shit. Think, Parker!_ “I look really old for my age?”

“Peeete! Get in here! I found it!” Wade’s voice rang clear in the stunned silence following Peter’s Worst Possible Answer™.

“Coming!” he called back, sliding behind the bar and side-stepping Weasel as quickly as he could. Probably with too much of his Spider-Man flavored acrobatics and speed, but oh well. He wanted as far from that conversation as he could get.

There were more rooms than Peter was expecting behind the doors, and a much nicer kitchen than seemed like it would belong in a place like Sister Margaret's. Dopinder shot him a friendly wave, which he returned.

He followed the sounds of Wade's breathing and heartbeat to track down which room he was in. As soon as he pushed open the door, his eyes were drawn to the blue vinyl couch in the middle of the room.

“So, that’s the couch?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“What?” Wade looked over at him, holding a green binder in a death grip.

“The, uh. The one from the texts.”

“Oooh!” Wade flashed a smile—the first one Peter had seen since yesterday morning. “Yeah! What do you think?”

“Well, I’m no longer sure that you didn’t drag me over here so we could fuck on the couch.” Part of him was screaming that _now_ wasn’t the time for jokes. Unfortunately, another part of him never shut up.

“Not this time.” On the other hand, Wade seemed more relaxed than he had for the last 24 hours. Maybe the idiot part of his brain had a point. “I mean, if you’d _like_ to fuck on the couch, I wouldn’t say no.”

Peter snorted, even as he stepped closer to run his fingers over the arm, feeling the cracks in the vinyl. Surprising himself, he found himself thinking about it, playing back the fantasy that Wade had laid out in his mind. And, well. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a little bit tempting.

Especially if Wade had been serious about taking his time and exploring every bit of Peter’s body and—

“Petey?”

He tore himself out of his thoughts and refocused on Wade’s amused smile. “Sorry.”

“Were you thinking about it?”

“No,” Peter said as if he hadn’t saved that particular string of texts (via screenshot and metadata scrubbing) to look at from time to time. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Although his grip on the binder hadn’t changed, Wade was actually grinning at him. 

“But what you suggested over the phone would take way too long,” he walked over to Wade, “definitely not something to do in public. Er. Public-ish.”

“‘Spose you’re right,” Wade offered, pushing the binder into Peter’s hands. “But when we get home, I’m going to eat you up.” He stepped closer into Peter’s space, forcing him to look up to keep eye contact. “And _out,_ if you’ll let me.”

“Out? Oh!” Peter’s initial confusion passed quickly, and he could feel his face heating up. But it was quickly followed by a deeper confusion. Wasn’t Wade still upset at him? “Wait, what?”

“Where’d I lose you?”

“You’re mad at me.”

Wade rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not. Well, I might have been for about 10 minutes last night. But, believe it or not, even if I _was_ still pissed, I’d still want to fuck you.”

“Oh.” Peter blinked, trying to parse that out. He quickly gave up and just set it aside as a Wade Thing. “Right well. Before you start acting like everything is back to normal, I owe you an apology. A proper one.”

“You didn’t mean to—”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t hurt you, though!” He set the binder down on the desk—Weasel’s desk?—and grabbed Wade’s hands in his. “Look, I. I didn’t mean to hurt you, you’re right. But I did. Because you were right that I only said anything to make myself feel better. I still think you deserved to know, but I was so wrapped up in feeling guilty that I ignored that I _knew better_ than to think you’d _want_ to hear it.”

“That was a pretty good apology,” Wade huffed. “I’m not gonna forgive you for it.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Good. But I’ll say that it sounds like you’ve thought about it. So. Thanks for that. Am I allowed to go back to pretending everything is fine now?”

“If that’s what you want.”

Wade kissed him. “It is. You gonna answer me?”

“Answer what?”

“Can I eat you out?”

Peter couldn’t help the weird choked noise he made. “M-maybe.” His brain fizzling at the abrupt change in atmosphere wasn’t helped at all by Wade’s pleased smirk. “What?”

“You’ve been so confident lately,” he explained. “Which, don’t misunderstand, is fan-fucking-tastic. But I also kind of missed seeing you all flustered every time I mentioned sex.”

He groaned. “Fine. When we get home, I’ll let you get me all kinds of flustered if you want.” His eyes drifted back to the binder. “Is that what you were looking for?”

Wade’s smile faded. “Yeah, it is.”

“I don’t have to look at it,” Peter assured him. “I promise, if you don’t want me to, I won’t go looking for any of—”

“Open the damned thing, Peter.”

“Okay,” he agreed, twitching at Wade’s sharp tone.

He picked it back up, and gingerly opened it. He wasn’t really sure what he was expecting. There were a few sheets of paper that he skimmed over. They looked like some sort of record that Weasel kept, most likely of the Jobs he helped coordinate for Deadpool. None of it made any sense to Peter, though, and he didn’t want to spend the time trying to decipher whatever code Weasel used.

Behind those pages, he found the first photo, and he heard Wade jerk away. “Wade?”

“It’s fine,” Wade lied, turning away from Peter and busying himself with the other binders on one of the shelves. “Just… It’s fine.”

Peter stood there, conflicted. It was obvious that Wade was uncomfortable. That he didn’t want Peter to see anything in that binder. But he’d also said he wanted to be the one in control of how Peter learned things about his past.

He made himself look back down at the photograph. “This is the one I saw at your apartment,” he told him quietly. Wade, in his very early 20’s by Peter’s best estimate, his brown hair cropped short, and a loud, colorful RENT t-shirt. Yeah, definitely the same picture.

Wade just grunted in acknowledgment.

It wasn’t like Peter had expected him to look over or anything. He flipped through the next few pictures more quickly. Most of them were pretty similar: t-shirts, happy smiles, sometimes he was alone, and sometimes he had various men and women with him. There was one woman who popped up a few times, and part of Peter wanted to ask about her. One glance up at Wade and the tense line of his body, the way he had his eyes clenched close, and the way he was shaking, told him that it was none of his fucking business.

***

The last three pictures were different. In one, Wade was younger than the rest—easily a teenager. His hair was long and pulled into a ponytail. He was flipping off the camera, and grinning despite a dark bruise swelling the left side of his face. The actual focus of the photograph was in his other hand. Enlistment papers.

Which meant… Wade was 16 in the photograph. He was already tall, but he looked decidedly underfed. When Peter looked closer, the bruise on his face wasn’t the only one. And Wade was _angry._ His mocking grin couldn’t mask the unbridled rage that held him upright. 

“Are you crying?”

Peter blinked. Was he? “Um.” He swallowed, feeling the hot tears on his cheeks now. He couldn’t help but feel angry _for_ the younger version of Wade that looked up at him across the years. He was looking at a kid who’d been _abused._ “Yeah, sorry.”

***

“Hard to look at, huh? What could have been and all that.”

Rather than answer, Peter flipped to the next picture. Wade was wearing his easy happiness again. Dressed in a suit that could probably rival one of Tony’s, the woman from the other pictures next to him in a sleek red dress. Her blonde hair was pulled into a complex-looking updo, and her makeup decorated her face in shades of blue. It shouldn’t have looked as impressive as it did, but she pulled it off. She looked happy, too, with Wade’s arm around her, holding her close.

He turned to the last photograph in the binder. Wade, laughing, two very familiar katana strapped to his back.

"Are those Bea and Arthur?"

“Huh?” Surprisingly, Wade actually walked back over to him to glance at the photograph. “Oh, yep! Right after I got them.”

“Really? Where’d you get them?”

Wade had already turned away again, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

“Babe?”

“Yeah, I’m here, sorry. I, uh,” he ran his hand over the back of his head. “I mean, I was in Japan. I think it was a few years after I left the army.” He was frowning, his brows furrowed in the way that meant he was trying to remember something. Something he felt was important. “I would have been… 24?” He nodded, having answered his own question. “Yeah, that’s right. That picture was taken right before the whole cancer thing.”

Peter's breath caught. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry."

"You didn't give me cancer."

_"Wade."_

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it, Petey. It was my idea to show you."

Peter couldn’t help but glance between the photo in the binder and Wade’s face. “I was right.”

“About what?”

“That scar totally made you look badass.”

Wade stared at him for a few moments before barking out a laugh. "Definitely not," but Wade was grinning. "But thank you."

Peter set the binder down and moved closer to Wade until he could wrap his arms around the back of his neck. He pulled him into a kiss, slow and soft and sweet. "Thank you," he whispered against Wade's mouth. "For trusting me with this. With you."

In lieu of replying verbally, Wade kissed him again. 

When they broke apart, Peter closed the binder and replaced it on the shelf, where Wade indicated. “Wade, I gotta know… Are we okay?”

“Yeah, Petey. We’re okay.”

“You wanna go home?”

“Sure.”

“Oh! Uh, be-tee-dubs, how did you tell Weasel we met?”

“I didn’t, why?”

“Because now he has questions.”

* * *

They were barely in their apartment before Wade grabbed Peter and hauled him up, forcing him to wrap his legs around Wade’s waist, and started leaving hot, wet kisses across his throat.

Peter swore and tilted his head back. He gasped when he felt Wade’s teeth against his collarbone. “W-Wade.”

“Hrm?”

“I,” Wade’s hands trailed up the back of his shirt. “You’re making it really hard to think.”

“Good,” he blew cold air across Peter’s wet skin, making him shiver.

“Yeah, but. I want to say something.”

“I’m not stopping you,” Wade teased.

He let out a soft huff when Wade went back to kissing and biting his neck. “Wha-what do you want?” He managed.

“This.”

“Just this?”

At that, Wade finally pulled back. “What did you have in mind?”

“Whatever you want,” Peter curled forward and pressed a kiss to Wade’s forehead. “It can be anything.”

“You sure that’s something you want to offer me?”

“Wouldn’t have said it if it wasn’t.”

Wade gave him a wide-eyed stare for a moment before setting him down. He took a deep breath before speaking. “Okay, wait a minute.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You know you don’t owe me anything, right? You don’t have—”

“Don’t.”

He watched Wade consider his next words. “Right, I know. Bad Wade. What I mean is… Why?”

Peter blinked. “Why?”

“Why do you want… Why are you offering me _anything?_ ”

Briefly, he thought back to as many times that Wade had tried to tell him that he “didn’t have to” do things he so obviously had _wanted_ to do. Suddenly the comments made a lot more sense. Wade hadn’t just been giving him an out, he’d been unable to understand _why_ Peter wanted intimacy with him.

He swallowed. “I know I don’t owe you anything,” Peter agreed, deciding that was the most important thing to get across first. “I’m not offering sex to make up for being a jerk. I want to have sex because I love you. And I’m asking if you’ve got any specific wishes because you just did something really fucking hard and I’m proud of you, and I want to _show you_ that.”

“I’m not sure that’s all that much better.”

“Then, because _I_ want it. I like doing things that make you happy, Wade. Plus, you’ve yet to suggest anything that wasn’t super awesome, so. C’mon. What do you want to do?”

“Can I shave you?”

While Peter wasn’t surprised that Wade remembered that conversation, he was a little surprised that _that’s_ the thing Wade wanted right then. 

“I said anything,” Peter smiled. “Pretty sure I was promised some of Thor’s Ale for that, though.”

Wade’s grin returned, his eyes lighting up. “You definitely were,” he agreed.

“You gonna drink with me?” Peter asked when Wade only got one glass from the cabinet.

“Baby Boy,” Wade scolded gently, “you should know that alcohol and very sharp knives don’t mix.” He paused, tilting his head. “In this instance. Since I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh,” somehow Peter hadn’t realized Wade was going to use a knife. He’d done it before, so it made sense, but it still wasn’t what he’d been picturing. Either way, that was a good point. “Right, yeah. You probably shouldn’t drink.”

Wade wiggled his brows at him before turning to pour the drink. “Glad to know you see it my way.”

They curled up on the couch and cuddled while Peter sipped at the bitter fruity alcohol. It didn’t take much before he was delightfully warm and content, melting against Wade’s broad chest. He set the glass down so that he could turn and kiss his boyfriend. One kiss turned to two, to three, to him embracing Wade’s compliance and kissing and sucking and nipping every bit of exposed skin he could reach. He let his hands travel over Wade’s clothes, feeling how his breath hitched, and his heartbeat sped up under his palm.

“Love you,” he murmured.

But as he started kissing down Wade’s shirt, over his chest and stomach, Wade stopped him with a hand in his hair. Peter moaned at the way Wade tugged to hold him still. “Fuck, Sweetheart. Slow down, okay?”

He whined, wanting to get his mouth all over Wade.

Wade’s breath caught. “You forgetting what we’re planning?”

Peter blinked a few times. A different rush of pleasure filled him at the sight of Wade’s darkened eyes. “No, Sir. I remember.”

His fingers tightened in Peter’s hair at the name, making Peter groan.

“Be good, Petey. I’m gonna make you feel good, alright?”

“Please.”

Wade pulled him into one last kiss before gently nudging him off the couch. “Go get undressed.”

With a happy, “Yes, Sir!” Peter scrambled to the bedroom to do as he was asked. He tossed his clothes into the hamper and settled, naked, on the bathroom counter.

And Sir looked so very _pleased_ when he followed Peter into the bathroom. “What a good boy. My sweet Petey-pie,” he praised as he set down his tools. Knife, soap, washcloth. Peter’s eyes were glued to the sharp blade glinting under the bathroom lights.

“Relax, Sweetheart,” Wade soothed. Peter hadn’t even realized he’d tensed. “Say the word, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he took a deep, slow breath. “Yes, Sir.”

He did his best to sit quietly while Wa—Si—Wade used the cloth to cover his chest with soapy water. But when he picked up the knife, Peter whimpered despite himself.

“You’re okay, Sweetie. I have you.”

“I know,” Peter whispered. “Just… a little scared.”

Sir nodded. “Thank you for telling me. Do you wanna do something else instead?”

He shook his head. “M’okay.”

“Here we go,” Sir warned after he wet the blade and held it near Peter’s chest. He waited until Peter gave a small nod to slowly pull it across his skin. 

Peter’s breath was shaky and high pitched, but he just tilted himself back to expose his chest more readily to Sir’s knife.

He shuddered when Sir’s nails dragged over his nipple. “I love how sensitive you are,” Sir murmured, rolling the bud between his fingers.

Peter wet his lips, panting. He smiled as Sir lifted the knife again, carefully removing the hair from his pecs.

"Not really sure what you're getting out of this," Peter admitted quietly, not wanting to distract him.

Sir chuckled, his movements never faltering. "You mean besides getting to run a knife all over your body?" He straightened and pressed against Peter's shoulder. "Lean back a bit more for me."

The counter wasn't wide enough to allow much movement, but Peter leaned back until his shoulder blades and head pressed against the cold glass of the mirror. He shivered at the contact.

Sir swiped the warm cloth over his stomach, wetting it, before following it with more soap.

"Bye little treasure trail," Peter sang, only to fall into such a bad fit of giggles that Sir had to pull the knife away from his skin.

 _"Peter."_ Sir said his name like a chastisement, and Peter did his best to calm back down.

"You're the one who got me drunk," he pointed out once he'd quit shaking.

"Obviously a mistake on my part." Sir’s hand was huge and warm against his belly, pulling the skin taut so he could carefully run the blade over him.

Peter's breath caught when Sir’s fingertips started skimming over his pubic hair. "Um." He knew Sir wouldn't hurt him, but the idea of having a knife that close to his dick made him tense up.

"Breathe, Honey," Wade soothed, dropping his hand away. "We can save that for later. Or never. I'm only interested in doing what you feel comfortable with."

He nodded, but it took a few moments before he could get any words out. "M-maybe later. _Maybe._ It's… I trust you, but—"

"You don't have to explain yourself, I get it."

"Right. I. Sorry, Sir."

Sir swore. "Fuck, Baby Boy." He cupped Peter's face, and Peter was quick to turn to mouth at his palm. "You develop a hell of an oral fixation when you drink, huh?"

Peter shrugged and licked the pad of Sir’s thumb. It was bitter from the soap, but he couldn't find it within himself to mind.

"You're just determined to throw off all my plans, aren't you?"

"No," with a quick kiss, Peter pulled himself away from Sir’s hand. "I'll behave."

"I know you will." Sir stepped closer, spreading Peter's legs with his hips. Peter clung to his shoulders as Sir’s breath ghosted across his neck.

"Sir," Peter whimpered, arching towards him. "Please, please, please."

"So needy," Sir chuckled. Peter was pretty sure an entire lifetime passed before Sir's mouth made contact, and his teeth dug into Peter's skin. "How do you always taste so good?"

Peter whined when Sir pulled away again. "Come back."

"I'm not done with you yet," Sir assured him.

Peter watched Sir run the washcloth under the tap again. He gave Wade a curious look as he ran it over his left arm. "Arm hair too?"

"Is that okay?"

"I guess. You really planning to shave all of me?”

"Everything you'll let me. Besides your head. Your floof is too cute to shave off."

"I could rock it," Peter mused as Wade dragged the blade down his arm. He was so _focused_ when he had a knife in his hands, and this time Peter could better admire it.

After wiping off his arm, Wade ran his fingers through Peter's hair. "You could," he agreed, "but then I wouldn't be able to pull your hair like you like."

Peter hummed his agreement. He tried to take stock of himself while Sir worked on his other arm. He still didn't understand what Wade was getting out of this, but he was obviously having a good time. And Peter would be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying the attention. He couldn't tell if he was aroused or not, but he felt warm and safe and cared for.

It was easy to relax, even with Sir’s razor-sharp knife gliding over his body. Because Sir was holding the knife, and Sir was in control. And feeling Sir _focus_ on each part of his body as he worked was heady. He didn’t even feel self-conscious or awkward when Sir maneuvered him and cut away the hair from his underarms and legs.

“I could swim so fast now,” he murmured as Sir wiped him clean. “Just grab a swim cap and bam. No drag.”

Sir chuckled. His hand traveled lower and gently held Peter’s dick. Peter glanced down to see that he was half-hard. He let out an interested hum.

“What do you think, Baby Boy?” Sir asked.

“About what?”

“About me shaving you down here.”

Peter blinked, trying to fight his way out of the warm fuzzy place he’d been floating in so that he could think. The thought still made him nervous but letting Wade run a knife over him had been thrilling so far. How much more exciting would it be for Wade’s attention and skills to play out in such a vulnerable part of his body.

He spread his legs, giving his Sir easier access. “Okay,” he agreed.

Sir pressed forward and kissed him. “Thank you.”

Peter smiled fondly and took a grounding breath as Sir worked the water and soap into a lather covering his pubic hair. “Hold still for me, Honey,” he reminded him. He waited until Peter nodded before gently dragging the knife against his skin. He started at Peter’s abdomen and took his time getting closer and closer to his dick.

His breath stuttered, and he clenched his fists over the edge of the counter. He focused on taking deep breaths and just _feeling_ what Sir was doing to him. Sir kept up a stream of quiet praise that let Peter sink deeper into his body. He let Sir shift him as he needed to remove the hair at the junction of his legs.

“Didn’t know that skin was so sensitive,” he mused. He’d closed his eyes, his head tilted back against the mirror.

“It doesn’t get much stimulation,” Sir explained as he moved to the other side. Once he was pleased with the smoothness of Peter’s skin, he leaned forward and started sucking a mark there.

“Jesus,” Peter hissed, his eyes snapping open. Sir grabbed his leg, holding him open so that he could continue to lick and suck at the sensitive skin. “S-Sir,” he panted. Sir’s teeth scraped against the forming bruise, and Peter whined.

“Good boy,” Sir blew cold air against his wet skin, making Peter jerk. “You’re being so good for me,” he shifted and picked his knife back up—Peter hadn’t even realized he’d put it down. 

“Wade,” he whispered and let out a shaky breath as Wade started shaving away the hair closest to his dick. He whimpered and clenched his fists tighter around the edge of the counter. He could be good. He could hold still and swallow his urge to jerk and get away from the cold metal so close to his dick. “Sir.”

“You’re doing great,” Sir assured him. He lifted Peter’s dick, pressing it against his belly so that he could reach the hair there.

Peter couldn’t help the high pitched whine that escaped. Wade had a knife against his balls.

Sir hushed him but otherwise let Peter pant and gasp as he removed the hair from his balls.

“Alright,” Sir ran his tongue over the bare skin. “All done with what we can do from this position,” he told him.

“O-oh,” Peter swallowed thickly. “What next?”

“You gonna let me shave your ass?”

“S-sure,” Peter chuckled softly if a bit hysterically. “Why not.”

He let Sir pull him down from the counter and turn him around. He felt his face burning as Sir spread his cheeks.

“Why is this worse?” He whimpered.

“Worse, how?”

“It’s embarrassing. You’re… I…” He groaned, “I wouldn’t mind another drink.”

Sir laughed. “After this, okay? Bear with this for me, and you can have another drink.”

Peter paused before pillowing his head over his crossed arms. “Sounds fair.”

His Sir was as careful and methodical here as everywhere else. The blade felt less threatening now, but that seemed to make it worse. He couldn’t just embrace the thrill of the danger. He laid his head against the cool counter and tried to relax as Sir finished shaving away the last of his body hair.

“You’re amazing,” Sir told him. Peter heard him drop to his knees behind him.

“Wade?”

In lieu of an answer, Wade grabbed his hips, and he could feel Wade’s breath against his skin. “Can I?”

“Shit, you were serious,” Peter shifted. Wade wanted to… “C-can I have that drink first?”

“Yeah, alright. You wanna rinse off while I grab you another glass?”

Peter nodded. “Okay.” 

With a soft pat to the butt, Wade left the bathroom. Peter straightened and took a moment to compose himself. Wade wanted to eat him out. Which, it wasn’t like he’d been shy about that before. Hell, Peter had a _coupon_ for a rimjob. But Wade expressing an interest-slash-desire was different than it _actually happening._

Robotically he stepped into the shower. Wade had done a good job of cleaning up each area as he finished, but Peter still appreciated the chance to wash himself.

It didn’t take long, and soon, he had dried off and ventured back into the bedroom. 

His boyfriend was waiting with another glass of the ale.

“Thanks,” he sat on the bed and sipped the ale. “You, uh. You sure you want to, uh. Do _that?”_

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” Wade’s hand landed on his thigh. “If you don’t like the idea, then no, I don’t want to.”

“But if I _am_ cool with you, you want to?”

Wade nodded.

He stared down into the dark liquid and watched the bubbles pop at the surface, hoping it would settle his nerves. “What’s the appeal?” He finally asked.

“Hmm?”

“I mean… No, yeah, that’s what I meant. What’s _enjoyable_ about licking an ass?”

Wade let out a gleeful giggle and clapped his hands. “I have an answer for that one!”

“I’d hope so,” Peter smiled at Wade’s enthusiasm.

“For one, obviously, it’s _super intimate,”_ Wade started. It was a little hard to recognize him as the man who’d been giving him nothing but short, curt answers less than 24 hours ago. “Also, and I don’t know if this part will tickle your buttons the same way, but I get a hell of a kick out of how, just… _transgressive_ and taboo it is.”

“You like doing it because you’re not supposed to? Actually, nevermind, that makes perfect sense. Go on.”

“And!” Wade chirped. “You know how I love being a subby little bottom and slutting it up for you?”

Peter snorted. “I guess so, yeah.”

“Well, when I’m _not_ doing that, I do actually enjoy getting the chance to dom the fuck out of you.”

“I…” Peter tilted his head. “Okay, you’ve lost me. How is rimming a dom-thing?”

Wade turned his body to face Peter’s and caught his chin between his fingers, forcing Peter to look him in the eye. “It’s all about control, Baby Boy. It’s about having you submit to _whatever_ I want to do to you, even if you find it embarrassing or awkward. About taking my time and working you up until you can’t handle how good it feels. I want to feel you _break_ under me.”

Peter’s next breath was a wheeze. “You…” He swallowed. It had been a while since he’d felt _intimidated_ by Wade. But it wasn’t a bad feeling. The opposite, in fact. A warm sort of _hunger_ coursed through him. He pulled back from Wade’s hold, only so he could finish his drink. After he set the glass on the bedside table, he turned back to his boyfriend. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded then leaned back on the bed. “If that’s what you want. Break me.”

Wade grinned, baring his teeth. “Roll over,” Sir ordered. “Knees and chest.”

He was half-way through following Sir’s directions when Peter realized exactly how he’d look in this position. He dropped heavily down to his chest and covered his face with his arm. Even just like this, he was so exposed.

“You look far too good like this,” Sir told him, one of his hands rubbing up and down Peter’s thigh. “I should fuck you like this, sometime. Would you like that?”

“Yes, Sir,” Peter answered. 

“Soon, then,” Sir promised. Then he forced his hands between Peter’s legs and pushed them further apart, and Peter realized that more of his front _could_ dip down against the bed. And that the small shift made a _huge_ difference in how it felt.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” Wade murmured, kissing his tailbone.

“What happened to breaking me?”

Teeth scraped against his ass cheek. “Did I fuckin’ stutter?” Sir scolded.

“No, but—”

Sir cut him off by licking a hot stripe right across his hole.

“Fuck!” Peter jerked forward, away from Sir’s mouth, but not quite enough to get _away._

“Where d’you think you’re going, Baby Boy?”

“Sorry,” Peter gasped and forced himself back into position. “That felt _weird_ as hell.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Sir’s words sounded more like a threat than an assurance. Peter would get used to it. Or else.

Or else, what? Went unasked and unanswered because Sir licked him again, and Peter struggled to stay still. It wasn’t a bad feeling, per se, but it was warm and wet and so alien that he couldn’t figure out how to process it. 

He let out a sigh of relief when Sir shifted down to suck at his balls. Which was also strange, but less overwhelmingly so. Plus, it felt _good_ with no confusing connotations to get wrapped up in. 

“That’s right, Good Boy,” Sir breathed. “Just relax and take it.”

“Yes, Sir,” Peter mumbled, doing his best to do just that. He closed his eyes when Sir licked and kissed his way back to his ass, and resisted the urge to tense.

“I know it’s weird,” Sir soothed, and Peter let out a shaky breath at his understanding. “Just give me a chance, alright?”

“Alright.”

One of Sir’s hands found his dick and started stroking it with the same slow rhythm as his tongue. It helped ground Peter, and he found himself settling.

And then Sir _moaned_ at Peter’s submission. Something untangled in Peter’s chest, and he found that, yeah, it was leaning more towards a good sort of weird. 

Sir didn’t speed up, but every movement felt more focused, more intentional.

Peter let out an embarrassing, “Ah!” when Sir’s tongue started pushing _inside_ him. He grabbed the sheet under him and balled it up in his hands. When he jerked, Sir’s hand tightened around the base of his cock in warning.

He didn’t think he could form words, so he just did his best to hold still as Sir’s tongue breached him. But he couldn’t stop the whimpers or shivers that wracked him.

“Even here you taste good,” Sir praised, and Peter let out an aborted laugh-slash-sob. 

After that, he found himself tentatively rocking back, meeting Sir’s mouth. He’d been told not to move, but, God, it felt good now. Weird and alien, still, but Sir made no attempts to hide how much he was enjoying it, so Peter didn’t either.

“Told you,” Sir chuckled. For a moment, Sir stopped, and Peter wondered if he’d done something wrong. But before the thought could fully form, he felt Sir’s _teeth_ along his rim. Not biting, he didn’t think, just scraping against the sensitive skin.

Peter keened, spreading his legs further. “Wa—Sir! P-please!” Sir did it again. “Fuck, please, please, please,” he squirmed, panted, whined. “M-more,” he begged.

Sir growled, plunging his tongue back into Peter, his hand moving roughly over his dick. The handjob was just on the edge of being too dry, but Peter _wanted_ it. He was just barely aware of the moans and broken praise and pleas spilling from his mouth. He wanted to come. He never wanted to come. He wanted to live on the precipice of too-much-not-enough as long as he could.

Then, suddenly, Sir released his dick and shoved two fingers inside him, finding his prostate with superhuman accuracy.

Distantly he felt himself lock up and shake with his orgasm.

Before the aftershocks had worn off, Sir flipped him onto his back, and Peter watched him stroke himself to orgasm. Sir’s cum landed mostly on his abdomen, with a bit finding its way to his chest. The most he could manage was a pleased groan when Sir leaned over and started rubbing his cum into Peter’s skin.

“You are a mess,” Sir was smiling, his eyes bright and warm.

“Your mess,” Peter slurred.

“That’s right,” Sir agreed. “Mine. To do whatever I want, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Good. You know what I want to do with you right now?”

Peter blinked, his brain still trying to kick back into gear. He shook his head.

Sir laid down next to him, pulling Peter over until he was pillowed against his chest. “This.”

“Cuddles?”

“Yep. Gonna cuddle my perfect Baby Boy until you fall asleep.”

He made a confused sound.

“What’s wrong?”

“Still not broken.”

Sir laughed, and Peter closed his eyes and rubbed his face against his chest, enjoying the vibration of it against him. “Oh, Honey,” Sir cooed. “You have no idea.”

**Author's Note:**

> During their scene, Peter switches between thinking of Wade as "Wade" and "Sir". This is intentional, lol.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Tumblr: [@Wolfloner-Official](https://wolfloner-official.tumblr.com/)  
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> HMU if you wanna chat or w/e. :)


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